Spirits in Bondage: A Cycle of Lyrics

XXXVIII. Lullaby

     Lullaby! Lullaby!
     There's a tower strong and high
     Built of oak and brick and stone,
     Stands before a wood alone.
     The doors are of the oak so brown
     As any ale in Oxford town,
     The walls are builded warm and thick
     Of the old red Roman brick,
     The good grey stone is over all
     In arch and floor of the tower tall.
     And maidens three are living there
     All in the upper chamber fair,
     Hung with silver, hung with pall,
     And stories painted on the wall.
     And softly goes the whirring loom
     In my ladies' upper room,
     For they shall spin both night and day
     Until the stars do pass away.
     But every night at evening.
     The window open wide they fling,
     And one of them says a word they know
     And out as three white swans they go,
     And the murmuring of the woods is drowned
     In the soft wings' whirring sound,
     As they go flying round, around,
     Singing in swans' voices high
     A lonely, lovely lullaby.